


In the Wake of a Dream

by SweetSorcery



Category: Dawn of the Dead (1978)
Genre: 1970s, Apocalypse, Dreams, First Kiss, M/M, Nightmares, POV First Person, Romance, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roger has a bad dream. Just a dream. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Wake of a Dream

Now that Roger, Fran and Stephen are asleep, I feel alone for the first time today. And to be honest, it's giving me the creeps. All the way up here in the roof, I can't hear them, pounding on the doors downstairs or shuffling through hallways and up and down the stairs. I look up at the skylights, and I hear nothing - no cars in the distance, no sirens, no folks yelling... none of those things that make up a normal world.

I know Stephen and Fran are scared; they can't hide it. Roger hides it too well, I don't buy it. And I'm scared. Oh yeah, I sure am. But I'll be damned if I admit it. If there's one thing that might buy us some time, it's keeping a cool head. I wouldn't make bets about Roger not knowing I'm scared though. I swear, he can look inside me. I think he probably knew I was scared right off, when he offered me a way out of hell.

I know he didn't really wanna go to sleep, but he was dead on his feet. But he didn't go into the other room. He just rolled a blanket up into a pillow and dropped it on the floor right by my feet. And with a quirky grin, he lay down, facing me. Staying close, I guess. It's good. I can watch him sleep, and it's making me feel more settled.

There's a bit of a breeze from the open skylight, and it blows a few strands of hair over his closed eyes, tangling them with his lashes. His breathing's even and his mouth just slightly open. He looks real young, rolled up on his side like that, his face on one hand tucked under his cheek. Looks kinda innocent.

I smile, because I really don't believe that for a minute. I'm guessing he looks so young because he's so damn pretty. His skin looks so soft. I gotta close my eyes, because I don't want to be thinking about stuff like that. Cause he ain't just pretty. He's...

We're all gonna need our wits about us, and thinking on Roger like that ain't helping me keep mine.

He's groaning in his sleep, like my being edgy is making him nervous.

When I open my eyes again, his are fluttering, like he's dreaming. Then he groans again, and his fingers bunch up the blanket under his head.

"Roger?" I whisper.

Another groan, and he's on his back, tossing side to side. "We got 'em..." he mutters.

"Hey man, wake up." I get on my knees and shake him by his shoulder. "You're dreaming."

"We got 'em, Peter!" He grins in his sleep. "Sure got 'em!" And then he groans again and throws his arm to one side like he's trying to shake it off.

"Sh, Roger. Come on." I put both hands on his shoulders to hold him down, but he keeps mumbling stuff and getting louder.

"Take care..." he's saying, sounding real serious, like I have to hear it.

"What?" This is making me real nervous now, and I don't know why, but I know I gotta wake him up.

"Take care... Peter..." He heaves in a breath. "Of me. Care of... me..."

"Roger, come on, man, wake up." I mean to shake him awake, but instead, I'm lifting him and propping him up against my chest. "Wake up, Roger. It's just a dream." I'm cradling him now, leaning back against the wall, and I'm rocking him back and forth. I don't wanna wake him up too suddenly, but I'm scared of what else he'll say. Don't know why, I'm just... scared. Like hell.

"Peter!" Another moan, and then he opens his eyes, stares up at me all terrified. "God, Peter. You're here!"

"Where else would I be, man?" I try to smile, but it doesn't come off right.

"You all right?" he asks, sounding worried and confused and blinking sleep from his eyes.

"You're the one with the nightmare, and you're asking me?" I don't wanna tell him that I _feel_ like I'm the one with the nightmare.

"Oh hell, was it just a dream?" he asks, and tries to sit up, but I'm not letting him, holding him close. I don't think I can let go off him just now. "Shit, I'm glad to hear it."

"Yeah, definitely just a dream." I squeeze him a little, hold him closer and hope he won't notice. "Wanna tell me about it?" I ask, half wishing he won't, half hoping he will and it'll turn out to be about dragons and little green men and stuff.

Roger shifts a bit, and I get more comfortable, but I'm not letting him go, keeping him there between my spread legs. He's not trying to get away either, and I don't know if he can tell it's making me feel better. Or maybe it's making him feel better.

"I dreamed I was bitten by those things."

I close my eyes, don't dare to breathe. I'm hoping that somehow, it'll make my heart beat slower and he won't feel it against his back. When I can't hold my breath anymore, I lean my head forward a bit so I can at least get a whiff of his soft hair on the next in-breath. Something to keep me on the ground here.

He shivers, and I close my eyes. "Everything went crazy, man," he keeps going. "I was talking shit, and I knew it, but I couldn't stop. And I kept getting hotter and hotter. And I was hurting all over."

I tighten my arms around him, and he raises a hand to touch my forearm, and I instantly feel a hundred times better.

"You were there, though." He leans his head back until his hair is tickling the side of my neck. "And even while I was getting crazier all the time, I remember thinkin' how glad I was I'd asked you along."

He laughs nervously, and even though it's no colder than it was, I feel like my teeth are just about chattering. The way it feels when you're dead scared and about to do something wild. I don't really trust myself to say anything at this point.

"You were holding me, almost like you are now." He tightens his fingers on my arm, and I squeeze him again, rubbing my cheek against the side of his head. "And you were dabbing at my forehead and my neck and my chest with a wet towel, 'cause I think I was in a fever. I was burning up, man."

I swallow so hard I'm sure he can hear it.

He turns his head, looks up at me, and he's leaning against me with his eyes all wide and scared and... trusting. And they're not blue like they were before, like they oughtta be, but a weird kind of green, and I realize that must be what they look like when he's scared.

"It's okay, man. I'm here." I smile, and he smiles back a little. Turn blue again, I keep thinking. Blue like the sky, like the sea. Not green like... moss and leaves and decay.

"I know, Peter." He swallowing too. "I kinda knew I wasn't gonna make it. Hey, I've seen guys get bitten before, and I know how it is. But I kept thinking how I was real lucky."

"Lucky." I can hardly hear my own voice, and I don't know whether I even said it out loud.

"Yeah. The one thing that really scares me is to get caught alone by those things. To have them rip at me and..."

I hush him with a finger on his lips, and his eyes close for a moment, and when they open again, they're almost blue again.

"But there I was, not alone, and you were taking care of me, Peter. And I was so glad I got that." He licks his lips. "So damn glad. And it didn't matter I was gonna go, you know."

I stare at him, because I can't blink. Just can't. I can pretend there ain't no tears there just so long as I don't blink.

"You ain't going anywhere." I can hear the tears in my voice, and I'm pretty sure he does too. He can probably see them not falling down my face. Because Roger... he just _knows_ me.

"You know whatever we do in this place, we're not even gonna make a dent in all that mess out there, don't you?" he asks, but he smiles a little.

"I don't care about out there," I tell him. "For now, man, the world's just us four in here. I have no idea what's out there, or how long it's gonna stay out there. But I know what's here, and I'm holding onto it as long as I can."

"What are you holding onto, Peter?" His voice is soft and serious.

I stroke my hand down the side of his face, flattening his hair down 'til it looks silly, then down his neck, and back up to his cheek, and he leans into my palm, smiling.

"You, baby. Just you." I tilt my head and he arches his neck, and we're kissing. Real soft and slow, with pauses for breathing and a nip at my lip and a lick at the corner of his mouth and moans and whispers.

And I think I can hear him sighing, "Sure hope _this_ isn't a dream."

And I'm pretty sure I can hear myself too, promising that I'll prove it.

And then we're both promising things back and forth, and meaning them, and I think I hear my heart breaking too, just a soft little crack, and because Roger _knows_ me, I know he hears that too.

THE END

  
© and ™ of characters, locations, and some story lines - George A. Romero and possibly other entities; this story was written solely for the entertainment of other fans; no profit is made and no harm or infringement intended.


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